Twisted Love (Twisted 1)

My eyes flew open. I gaped at Alex, who stared down at me with a calm expression as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the call. Gone was passionate, playful Alex; in its place was the composed businessman Alex.

“No, I’m free to talk. What happened with the Wilbur development?”

Free to talk? He was still inside me!

He wasn’t moving, but I could feel every hard inch of him buried in between my thighs.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he shot me a warning look and pressed the fingers of his free hand into my hip, silencing me.

“Bastard,” I mouthed. I knew Alex was ambitious, but I’d never expected him to take a business call in the middle of freakin’ sex.

What was worse, I’d been about to come, and I was left squirming with need while he discussed square footage and building plans.

I rolled my hips up, desperate for friction. His eyes flared and his grip tightened before he slid out of me. He muted his end of the call, placed it on speaker, and hauled me off the bed with one arm while he carried his phone in the other.

“What are you doing?” I wrapped my legs around his waist while the man on the other end of the line droned on about zoning laws.

Alex deposited me next to the couch. “Bend over and spread your legs.”

Lust speared through me at his authoritative tone. I trembled but obeyed, placing my hands on the armrest, arching my back, and spreading my legs until every inch of me was bared to him.

Satisfaction curled in my stomach when I heard his sharp intake of breath.

The man stopped talking, and Alex unmuted the line to answer his question.

I could see my reflection in the large glass window opposite the couch. Wanton and flushed, my hair tousled from our sex marathon and my breasts hanging heavy and full. Behind me, Alex stood proud as a sculpted god, his face carved with brutal lust as he squeezed my ass.

My soft moan turned into a squeal when he slammed into me hard enough that the couch scraped forward an inch.

“Don’t make a sound,” he warned. “This is an important call.”

The flames of desire burned hotter. I should be upset that he was on a business call of all things while fucking me, but I was so turned on I couldn’t see straight. There was something so dirty and delicious about fucking while his partners prattled on, clueless.

Alex’s thrusts picked up a steady, punishing rhythm until I was no longer gripping the armrest—I was on the couch itself, my hips draped over the arm, my face buried in the cushions, my rock-hard nipples and swollen clit scraping against the fabric as he fucked me so viciously my feet lifted off the ground.

All the while, he continued his call, taking it off mute only when he had to speak. When he did, his voice remained calm and even, though I could hear his harsh breathing in the moments when he was silent. I had no clue what they were talking about anymore, too lost in a fog of lust to decipher specific words and phrases.

An unbidden yelp erupted from my throat when he hit a spot that caused my back to bow.

Alex fisted my hair and tugged my head back until I was half-upright again while his other hand closed around my throat. A warning and a reminder rolled into one. Don’t make a sound.

I tried my best. I really did. But I was a mess—I could see it in the window, my tear-streaked face and glazed eyes, my mouth hanging slack as orgasm after orgasm crashed over me in an endless, white-hot wave of sensation. Was it possible to die from too much pleasure? If so, that was what was happening. I was dying a million tiny deaths, each one ripping me apart and piecing me back together only for the next to destroy me again.

Another sob of pleasure, one that had Alex releasing my hair so he could cover my mouth and muffle my whines.

One hand over my mouth, one hand around my throat.

I came again, my entire body shuddering with the force of my explosion.

Alex fucked me harder, deeper, the couch screaming with protest—it had slid halfway across the floor by now, its progress impeded only by the wall—and I realized it was otherwise quiet.

The call was over.

“I thought you were better at following directions, Sunshine,” he said silkily. “Didn’t I tell you not to make a sound?”

I responded with an incoherent mumble—my failed attempt at apologizing.

“No words?” Alex slid his hand down from my throat to my nipples. He pinched them hard, one after the other, eliciting another jumbled moan. “Did I fuck your brains out, my gorgeous slut?”

Considering I couldn’t even remember my name, probably.

And as the minutes—hours—rolled into each other, I lost myself in him. In us.

In sweet, filthy, depraved oblivion.